


Doremi Fasol Latido

by PaxVobis



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Alien Biology, Aliens, Beating, Death Threats, Fear Play, Fear of Death, Gen, Mild Blood, Near Death Experiences, Not Beta Read, Outer Space, Panic Attacks, Possibly Pre-Slash, Power Dynamics, Powerlessness, Pre-Movie(s), Space Pirates, Threats of Violence, Violence, classic rock references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 06:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxVobis/pseuds/PaxVobis
Summary: Goretober #2: Space (previously "Space is Deep", from the album of the same name)“What do we do with junk that don’t work, Lieutenant?  C’mon!  I talked you through this shit just yesterday!” came the jeer, and Kraglin could not tear his eyes away from the floor.  He was going to make him say it.Kraglin drew a shuddering breath, and then barked, “Eject it, sir!” with all the duty he could muster.  He was rewarded with Yondu’s sick laugh, held deep in the throat, and then the hand at his nape again, grabbing him beneath the ears while the captain’s other hand hooked into the collar of his coat.“Well, no use dawdlin’ then, is there?  Time to take out the trash!”Yondu lifted him, and all of the Reavers cheered.Kraglin was going to die.





	Doremi Fasol Latido

**Author's Note:**

> first work in this fandom, only seen the movies. yes i ship it. winged it between the comics and movie data on their races, just tried to get creative with alien bodies, so my apologies if some stuff doesn't line up to what an expert on the verse could say!

There was something so inherently disquieting about the sound of the outside shutter on an airlock opening, like Kraglin could feel the change in atmosphere wherever he was in the ship.  There were three doors on the dominant airlock of this particular vessel, an aged Reaver custom once liberated from the army of a long-destroyed race and being ushered back for gutting: the one that opened directly onto the ship, near the medical wings, kind of like a door into the airlock compartment of the ship if you would (and Kraglin would), then the airlock door actual, opening into the pressure chamber, and then the shutter door that opened into the atmosphere.  Or deep space, if you were unlucky (and Kraglin _was_ unlucky).

Hypothetically for emergency exits.  He supposed being dragged out of the holding cells and up through the armoury and then shoved into the airlock – the doors of which were smaller than he was, it was a crawl space kinda deal – only to be ejected into deep space by Yondu was, in its way, an emergency exit.  Right, it was an emergency.  And it was an exit.  But the sound always lifted his head, anyway, not disturbed so much as, uh, curious, y’know, as to who it was with their blood popping out of their face this time.

He’d become quite familiar with that sound lately.  The captain was antsy as a segmented sand worm on this particular trip.  If Kraglin had to take a legitimate guess it’d be because the guy had been forced into this defecting role, little more than a glorified courier escorting this junk through a no fly zone.  Kraglin was aware it was a punishment, a slap across the chops for spitting something out of line at the wrong ally, the wrong client.  But Kraglin, as the new first mate, lieutenant, was not in the business of guessing.  Leave that to the skiptracers, the rebels, y’know? 

He was in the business of doing whatever the hell Yondu asked him to, right at that moment, and that included being boxed around in the control room, having his head held between two automatic doors as their languished sigh closed upon him and Yondu held him by the throat in a powerful blue hand, his other indicating to the doors as they twitched open, shuddered, and then attempted to close on Kraglin’s cheeks again.  “Y’see, when y’cause a dang _obstruction,_ Lieutenant, you make it mighty hard for junk to work, just like these doors here.  Y’see?  Y’see what I’m sayin’?  Now tell me what you are.”

His face still bore the shallow bruises from the closing doors, from Yondu’s vice grip on his throat.  “A dang obstruction, Captain.”

“And now you better stop bein’ an obstruction real smart, Kraglin, and start bein’ a _l_ _ieutenant_ , or I’m gonna have to make like we do with all the junk out here and damn _eject you_ now ain’t I.”

Kraglin had nodded at the time.  Without a certain degree of disobedience, Yondu would never have let him crawl to 2IC – he liked that kinda, independent streak, y’know?  It was a matter of knowing when to pop up with it and when to cower in terror, and Kraglin was better than most at judging that, or at least looking amusing while he was doing it.

Of course it was inevitable, then, on his first real mission as Lieutenant and with drekking space dust all up in the captain’s pouch or something, that Kraglin would judge wrong.  It was a microaggression, he reached in front of Yondu to hit a sunblind switch on the control booth after the captain had asked if it worked still.  This was the wrong thing to do, and Kraglin’s hearts jumped at the same time as Yondu’s hand came down tight on his wrist, twisting it up against his side.  From the look in the captain’s eyes, he was dead meat.  Yondu wasn’t playing around anymore.  It was time for Kraglin to die.

With a merciless twist and a hand at the nape of Kraglin’s neck, Yondu slammed the lieutenant into the controls, setting off a shrill alarm as the switchboard protested the overload.  He could feel the hot breath of the captain at his neck, rank with his bad teeth and rotten meat.  “Oh, you really screwed up now, Lieutenant,” purred in his ear, tickling the finest hairs along it, and Kraglin choked on the memory of those blunt nails ground into his throat. 

The next thing Kraglin knew he was on the floor, scraped off of the controls and dumped onto the cold grills at its base, a heavy plated boot slamming his body into the foot of the switchboard.  As he gagged on the blow to his gut, he rolled his eyes up to the other Reavers – but they all just watched, amused, as Yondu laid in another kick with all his weight, supporting himself with both hands on the control panel to get in the full power. 

Another punch of expelled air forced up Kraglin’s thick airways, and then he was grabbing desperately for Yondu’s boot, as if to catch it would be to shield the blow.  It only made his fine wrists easier for the captain to grab, hauling him across the floor and upwards like a ragdoll, his lip curled with Kraglin’s slight weight.

“You want up?  Then get the hell up!  Show some damn dignity!” barked Yondu almost with glee, and Kraglin knew better than to drop his weight, his boots scrambling for purchase as – with every grip he got – Yondu pulled him back off his feet, dancing him before the crew and then tossing him easily so that his last step caught the top of the stairs to the bridge and pitched him down them shoulder first, his thick leathers barely helping the crash and roll on the spiked plating below.  As Kraglin struggled to push himself to his feet, he could swear he heard Yondu laugh.  And then his bootsteps descending, one heavy fall after another.  The pop of the flexible bones in his knuckles as he readied them for beating.  Gloating over him.  Playing with his food.

“Now what’d I tell you about obstruction, Lieutenant?” came the cooee, and Kraglin drew himself onto his knees, shuddering at the stutter of his hearts as they tried to fall back in sync.  It wasn’t the fall that was the issue, it was the fear, y’know?  His blood was so thick in this atmosphere, I mean – marsupials, right?  But then Yondu was standing over him, and he could feel the Zatoan’s bloody eyes on his throat, piercing through him.

“Well?” said Yondu, a smile in his voice, and Kraglin gagged, saw a drop of syrupy black blood hit the plating beneath him, fallen from his heavy lip.

“Junk don’t work,” he managed to say, though it came out quietly, and Yondu nodded above him.

“And... whadda we do with junk?”

Kraglin’s body went cold.  He stared into the pool of black blood, like oil, on the scuffed metal plating.

“What do we do with junk that don’t work, Lieutenant?  C’mon!  I talked you through this shit just yesterday!” came the jeer, and Kraglin could not tear his eyes away from the sheen of the liquid as it strung down from his lip.  He imagined it bubbling, inside of him, swelling his body as the air escaped into the vacuum.  He was going to make him say it.

Kraglin drew a shuddering breath, and then barked, “Eject it, sir!” with all the duty he could muster.  He was rewarded with Yondu’s sick laugh, held deep in the throat, and then the hand at his nape again, grabbing him beneath the ears while the captain’s other hand hooked into the collar of his coat.

“Well, no use dawdlin’ then, is there?  Time to take out the trash!”

Yondu lifted him, and all of the Reavers cheered.

Kraglin was going to die.

The next few minutes passed in a blur, his hearts spluttering overtime to try and get the thick blood back to his head as Yondu toted him through the hold, the Reavers in tow with an erratic stomp of bootsteps on the grills behind them echoing around the chambers, their hoots and whoops bouncing around the inside of Kraglin’s skull.  He gripped tight to Yondu’s coat, otherwise paralysed where the Zatoan held him, his thumb and forefinger drilling into a sensitive nerve spot at the back of Kraglin’s jaw and making his brain blister with pain.  His teeth sawed against each other, but it was all he could do to bite back on it, twitching in the captain’s grip.

He saw the dark metal of the armoury and went colder still, his blood sluggish in his body.  Meant to save him, you know, make any skin slits stop bleeding, and eventually make him black out and appear dead until such a time his pulse could recover.  It was good for a Reaver, too; no hysterics, just cold.  But it was so useless here, when Yondu only craved grovelling – Kraglin only wished he’d just black out and not have to deal with the seething death that awaited him, the burning, the freezing, the air sucked out of his lungs. 

They reached the airlock.  Kraglin knew the sound of the first door as soon as Yondu had dropped his head and slapped his palm over the open button, stepping into the first chamber with a hunch to reach the second.  Kraglin saw patches of black in his vision, crawling fuzzy over the gnarled and scarred faces of his shipmates, his legs sticking rigid beneath him.

“Any last words there, Lieutenant?” purred Yondu, holding him up to his face, and Kraglin stared dumbly at him, the sticky black blood glistening on his lower lip.

He swallowed, shuddering.  The black blots crept closer.  His brain rang numb, cold where Yondu’s fingers had ground into his nerves.  And with a strained smile, he whispered: “L...”

The Reavers craned in, fighting to hear.  Kraglin battled for the words.

“L... Lick my ass, Captain.”

And Yondu smirked at him, then hit the open button for the airlock proper.  “’Fraid I ain’t gonna get the chance.  You have a nice trip out there, I hear Cygnus X-1 is a real beauty round this time of year if you find yourself on that side of the system and all.”  Kraglin could barely unwind his fingers from Yondu’s coat as the captain bundled him into the tiny airlock, and Yondu had to individually pry each digit from the leather as he spoke. 

Once he was in, Yondu patted him on the head with a large, warm mitt, and Kraglin’s body thirsted for the heat, a shallow skin-deep sucking as he was paralysed, sat curled in the lock with the black encroaching on Yondu’s blue moony face, smiling sweetly at him.  “I’ll miss ya!  Gonna be a slitch to sort out a new first mate, after all the shit we went through to get you recognised.  But, y’know.  You win some, y’lose some.”

Yondu withdrew, still smiling, and pulled a cute finger wiggle in farewell.  “Y’all send us a postcard, y’hear?” he cooed, and shut the lock.

Kraglin sat in the cool silence, his vision gone with his fear, and then turned his head to the outside door.  He stretched his weak hand out to the metal, feeling its chill.  This was it.  Death.  Felt like shit, if he was perfectly honest.  You know, waiting like this – for the hiss of the final door.  Space, the infinite, the crushing, the cold white heat that would destroy every molecule in him.  He was reminded of a song, retrieved on a pod from a far away planet: _Space is dark, it is so endless, when you’re lost it’s so relentless._..

But damned if he could remember anything else, and it just circled round and round and round in his head, and before he could hear that final hiss, he blacked right out, slumping rigid and glassy eyed against the chamber wall.

So it was that he also missed Yondu’s laughter as he popped open the door to the ship again, having never intended to eject him into space at all, and the captain's stunned curiosity as he craned in and examined his first mate’s still body, clucking to himself, “Whaddaya know?” before pulling him out again and handing him over to the crew.  “Ain’t never done that before.”  A grin on his sharklike dial all the while. 

By the time Kraglin had been resuscitated, with heat packs and a hearty slap around the chops, it was all as good as forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> i love me some comments if you got 'em.


End file.
